


breathing free and even

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's working on it. They're working on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathing free and even

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been having a very good time these last few days. Written largely from experience and frustration.
> 
> Please tell me if this needs more tags or warnings- I got out of bed to write this and I'm not even sure it's coherent.
> 
> Dedicated to my girlfriend, who is a goddamn saint and is incredible about helping me cope from across the country.

It’s not a suicide attempt, and it’s not some kind of penance, and it’s _not_ masochism, and fuck, fuck, _triple fuck_ the ex who asked him if it was. It’s- he doesn’t know what it is, but he knows what it’s not.

He’s working on it. He is.

 

ooo

 

Hermann sees the scars on the undersides of his forearms, barely hidden by ink, and he says, softly, “Newton.”

They’re sitting on Newt’s bed, fully clothed, though Hermann did take his sweater off ( _score_ ), and they won’t have sex for the first time for another two weeks, but it’s definitely a thing, a romantic thing, and Newt shrugs. “Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I ask...?”

Newt glances down at the scars- pale lines on soft skin, and he considers, but he’s not so sure yet. “It’s...I’m better. I’m getting better.”

It’s not a lie if he doesn’t know it’s untrue.

Hermann nods silently, and he sits up so he can kiss Newt’s cheek, and it makes Newt smile.

 

ooo

 

Hermann’s in Alaska and Newt’s in Tokyo and he calls Hermann at one AM, shaking and crying, not giving two shits about the time.

_“Newton?”_ Hermann asks, and he sounds groggy with sleep, and Newt feels kinda guilty and kinda relieved but mostly he’s still upset and sobbing. _“Newton, what time- Newton, love, are you all right?”_

“No,” he manages to say. “N-no, no, I’m- I’m not, I- I fucked up, Hermann, I fucked up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

_“Newton, darling, you don’t have to apologize to me. What happened?”_

Newt stares down at his bleeding shin, covered in a dozen thin cuts. Where’d the razor go? It was right here. “I- I fucked _up_ , Hermann, I didn’t mean to but I did, I’m so- I’m so-”

_“Breathe, darling, breathe. Can you do that for me?”_

The first inhale is snotty and uncomfortable, but he finds a rhythm. It’s easier with Hermann breathing in time with him on the other end of the phone. He calms down as best he can, and remembers that he threw the razor across the bathroom right before he called Hermann. “I should find that,” he mutters.

_“Find what, love?”_

“The- the razor. I think it landed on the floor, I don’t wanna step on it or anything, or- or let you step on it when you come back. I should find it.” He almost gets up to start looking, but his leg is really sore, and Hermann’s voice grounds him again.

_“Later. Can you talk to me first?”_

Newt nods, then says, “Yes,” when he remembers that Hermann can’t see him.

_“All right. Can you tell me what happened?”_

“I just- I got really-” He waves a hand in lieu of actual words. “-and then I, I went and found a razor and I didn’t wanna do my arms so I, um, I rolled up my pajama pants and I...I fuckin’ cut, man, I’m so fucking- I’m just-” He sobs again, and he hates himself for it, because it is _not_ cool to cry to your boyfriend while getting gross fluids everywhere.

_“Oh, Newton, love- are you all right? Are you bleeding heavily?”_

“N-no. No, it’s...it’s light. I can put some band-aids on. If I have band-aids? Shit. I don’t know.”

_“When you’re ready, they should be in the second shelf in the medicine cabinet, on the left. Do you want to talk more, darling?”_

“Not...not really. Sorry, sorry, I just- I can’t really-”

_“That’s all right. Would you like me to talk about something?”_

“I should- I should let you get back to bed-”

_“No, no, love- it’s morning, I should be up anyway. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”_

Newt sniffles silently and pulls his unharmed leg to his chest. “Can you just...talk about your day? How’s your conference going?”

_“A disgrace. These United Nations representatives have no idea what they’re talking about, as you already know, and they won’t listen to a damn word of our research. Well, I told the Marshall-”_

Newt falls asleep listening to Hermann talk, because it’s comforting. Only a couple more days until he comes home. He can make it.

 

ooo

 

“Newton,” Hermann says slowly, “I apologize in advance if this is a bad time, but may I ask you about your...your self-harm?”

They’re laying in bed at ten on a Saturday night, which Newt thinks is hilarious because _god_ , when did they get to be such old men? There’s never gonna be a good time, he realizes, so he says, “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

Hermann takes his hand. “Tell me if I ask anything that upsets you and I’ll cease immediately. But I wanted to know why it happens. If that’s not too- too much.”

Newt bounces his leg against the mattress and considers the question. People have asked before, and “sometimes it gets too loud in my head and cutting makes it quiet” tends to make them look at him like he’s crazy. But Hermann’s seen the worst of him and he’s still here. “I just...I mean, I’ve told you about my stupid anxious shit, y’know? It’s kinda like that- I get wound really tight, way tighter than I can deal with, and if I’m in a real bad place, the only thing that I can do is...hurt myself.”

Hermann makes a sad sound and squeezes his hand gently. “What are your thoughts on seeing a professional?”

“No. No, I’ve- I’ve done that before, tried a few different ones, and it just- didn’t click, I guess? I dunno. Like, they talk about, uh, coping mechanisms and, and all that, and I bet it’s all great stuff, but I’m not...” He sighs and leans his head against Hermann’s shoulder. “I don’t have any goddamn patience, y’know? I just wish they could find an off switch and make everything okay, but. Obviously, no.”

“I’m...” Hermann trails off and rubs the back of Newt’s hand with the pad of his thumb. “Apologies- I’m trying to find words that don’t sound like I’m being condescending towards you.”

Newt snorts and nudges Hermann’s side. “You’ve never worried about that before.”

“Yes, well, being condescending about your absolutely filthy working habits and your mental health are two entirely different things,” he says, and Newt appreciates the hell out of that, the fact that he’s still _Hermann_ when he’s being comforting. “I don’t suppose ‘I’m sorry’ really does much for you.”

“Nah. But that’s okay- it’s not really something you can do with words. I just know that...” He shrugs and grins at Hermann. “You’re still here. You’ve seen all my shit and you’re still here. That’s all I need.”

Hermann smiles softly and kisses him. “All right, then, love. I’ll keep on being here, then.”

“Cool. I like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Newt's attitude toward talking to a therapist probably shouldn't be recommended, but it's certainly how I've felt recently.


End file.
